My Promise to Marley

This year we didn’t celebrate Marley’s birthday in spring. I was adjusting to changes in my life and was preoccupied with the challenges of the new job. “We will celebrate next year,” I thought. We have many years ahead of us. Our cats’ birthdays are close to each other and are a few days apart. I went to a store and bought a few toys for all our three boys, thinking that the kittens would enjoy playing around with a couple of new balls and funny fabric mice.

Two months after, we lost Marley due to a sudden, rapidly developed illness. My life turned upside down. Noticing a change in Marley’s health, rushing to the vet, scheduling testing, receiving the results, and hopelessly losing my boy happened within less than three weeks.

My world collapsed. I still had my new job, and my colleagues were chatting about their summer vacation plans. The commute traffic still filled the road with a roaring noise. Nature was preparing for the warm, sunny days.

Everything was the same. Except, my boy was no longer greeting me on the stairs in the morning. Marley was no longer curling up on my pillow with his paws around my neck. I could no longer drown my face in his amazing golden coat. The deepest strings of my soul ripped apart and left my world in cold, cruel silence.

Best Friends.

Marley and I met almost five years ago. My boy used to live at SNAP Cats, a rescue and sanctuary for cats with special needs. The handsome orange tabby boy charmed me with his kind attitude and gentle demeanor. Soon, we developed a strong attachment to each other.

I was looking forward to seeing my new friend and his beautiful smile. Marley became our family in October 2017 during the devastating wildfires in Sonoma County. Later we developed an incredible connection beyond being friends or simply companionship. Marley and I spent almost five years together, and our beautiful friendship blossomed into love and devotion to each other.

We were like the parts of one body, inseparable and together all the time. Marley followed me around the house, and I looked for him every moment, whatever I was doing. Marley was watching me cooking dinner. I asked his opinion about food and different ingredients. After a bit of sniffing and checking, we made a collective decision about our meal for tonight.

Marley had an incredibly unique voice. It was not a classical “meow” but more like a bird chirping sound, short, quiet, and sweet. I called him my Walkie-Talkie. Marley always called me if I was busy with something and didn’t pay attention. When I worked on my college assignments, my boy was always near. He waited patiently, and I knew that my support was always close.

Sun Kissed.

Marley loved Sun. He enjoyed every bit of the sunshine he could get. The sunny patches by the large windows were Marley’s favorite in the house. We joked at home that if we ever buy solar batteries, we will have to place them on Marley’s back because he always finds sunlight.

At his funeral, the scene seemed surreal. I had a hard time reconciling what was happening to us. Marley’s body was peacefully resting in the shade of the grand oak. Amazingly, the sunshine appeared and spread among the leaves of the old tree. The light gently touched Marley’s gorgeous orange coat and froze for a moment. “You got your Sun, Marley, “I whispered.

My promise to Marley.

I promised Marley that I will not give up and our love and devotion to each other will live always. I will take care of our cats, Sunny, Joey, and other animals and continue working on my blog.

The promise that I gave to Marley keeps me going today. Despite the unbearable pain and profound emptiness, I find the strength to get up in the morning and greet a new day. I picture Marley’s beautiful green eyes and cheerful smile, just like when we used to wake up together.

I found it extremely difficult to return to blogging. Even though I don’t post on my regular schedule, I continue working on my blog, research for future articles, write down ideas, collect data, and read other sources. I connect with other writers and readers who experienced loss and help them to cope.